Order of Business
by SlapDash
Summary: What's a man to do when his superior's agenda threatens to undo everything he's worked so hard to accomplish? SH3 One-shot. Feel free to review (wink-wink, hint-hint, levels-shotgun-at-your-face).


'_Damn, I need a smoke,'_ the man thought as he placed the filtered end of the cigarette in his mouth and struck the match on the matchbook. It took a few tries because the damn matchsticks were like paper, making the act of striking the flame a chore since they tended to bend when trying to apply the pressure needed to actually produce the friction required to light up. When it finally flared to life, he held it up to the end of the cigarette and drew in a breath as the tip began to smolder. He waved the match until the flame extinguished and tossed it away, then tossed the matchbook down on the table as he took the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled a thin stream of smoke.

Nothing. Even having a smoke wouldn't help, not with the way things were at the moment. Irritated, he just dropped the paper-wrapped roll of shredded tobacco leaves into the ashtray on the table and left it to continue smoldering as he made for the door, his gait accented by the arrogant swagger that was his trademark manner of walking.

He noted that the change had indeed been quite thorough as he stepped out into the corridor. The entire building was rather decrepit now, no doubt another phenomenon attributed to the "Hand of God." The man snorted in amusement at the thought as he turned left down the corridor, his shoes tapping against the now-bloodied linoleum flooring as he went along. _'She's not here,'_ he thought, passing through the first door on the right, _'but this does bear a remarkable resemblance to the effect she has.'_ He entered the fifth floor anteroom and headed straight for the elevator. _'No, it couldn't have been her. She's out dispatching her little "crusader"…'_ He pressed the button for the fourth floor. _'Then again, who else could it possibly be?'_ he wondered as the doors shut him in.

He stepped out into the fourth floor anteroom and made his way over to the door on the western end with his hand shoved deep in his pocket, fidgeting with something that made a jingling noise as his fingers worked. He felt the metal passing between his fingers, and it felt good. It was something tangible, something that one had reason to put faith in. _'She really is insane,'_ he thought as he brought out a key from his other pocket and unlocked the door, his other hand still occupied with its little diversion. _'Bring about the rebirth of God, and for what? To undo everything I've worked so hard for?'_

He passed through the door and continued down the corridor beyond, still fidgeting with the objects in his pocket, almost as though trying to assure himself it wasn't going anywhere. _'Doesn't she realize how painstaking the process was to accomplish what I have?'_ he thought. _'How can she just throw it all away? As though my efforts meant nothing?'_ He followed the hall as it turned right and led to a door, which he entered. _'Ungrateful bitch… Doesn't she understand _anything_ that I've done for The Order?'_ he thought bitterly as he shut the door and walked up to the desk in the room, atop which sat a pile of silver coins illuminated by a desk lamp.

"Of course she doesn't understand," he said to himself, closing his fingers around the items in his pocket. "She's too blinded by her fanaticism to see." He pulled his hand out of his pocket and unfurled his fingers, revealing a number of coins in his palm, coins identical to the ones on the desk. "What can I say?" he shrugged with a sigh. "It's all about money." He began sliding the coins with his thumb out of his hand, each landing with a metallic plinking noise atop the pile on the desk. "Everything…"

-PLINK!-

"…in this world…"

-PLINK!-

"…is all…"

-PLINK!-

"…about…"

-PLINK!-

"…money."

-PLINK!-

He held up the last one, holding it between his thumb and forefinger to examine it as he took a seat at the desk. "At least the effects of its power and influence can actually be seen," he said, turning it over in the light. "Thus one's life turns to riches: what was a bag of silver coins is now the number in a book." He took up an account book sitting next to the pile of coins with his free hand. "Yet faith hath no price…" The coin he held rang as his thumbnail struck its underside, flipping it into the air. It turned over several times rapidly before falling to the top of the pile of coins on the desk, where it glimmered with the light of the lamp like all the others. "Ah," he said, holding up his index finger to draw emphasis, "but do people know this?" He chuckled a bit as he looked over to the writing on the wall near the vending machine, which bore the exact words he'd just recited.

He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose as he then opened the account book, inside which was a photograph of a teenage girl with short, blonde hair. Yes, she was the cause of his problem. At least partially. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his five o'clock shadow lightly scraping the pads of his fingers and thumb as he tried to think of a way to solve his little dilemma. He turned the photograph over and, taking a black permanent marker, began to write on the back.

_Find the Holy One._

He pondered all the possible ways to go about it, but only one solution seemed readily apparent.

_Kill her?_

Of course, that was easier said than done. That would no doubt lead to legal issues, which paled in comparison to suffering the wrath of The Order. Then again, there was the possibility that the girl knew nothing of her past, in which case she wouldn't pose any threat. Of course, even in that unlikely event, that was bound to change, no thanks to his boss, the fanatic. Heaving an exasperated sigh, he put the picture back in its place, closed the account book, stood up and left the room.

As he made his way back to the elevator, he could hear the sounds of the foul creatures now roaming about. He regarded their presence with mild interest as he walked by, seemingly unnoticed in the darkness. Very interesting creatures they were in his opinion. _'Well, _these _are certainly unusual,_' he thought, acknowledging his unfamiliarity with the strange beasts. They definitely weren't the works of his boss, and that could only mean one thing. _'Yes, that must be it,'_ he thought as he passed through the anteroom toward the elevator._ 'Amazing what oddities a busy mind can conceive.' _He summed it all up in one word as he pressed the button for the second floor. _'Fascinating…'_

He stepped off onto the second floor, once again being somewhat mindful of the strange beings roaming about in the darkness as he made his way across the anteroom. He could navigate his way about even in complete darkness, for he'd been through this building enough times to know its every facet with or without visual aid. After all, he had some degree of influence in just about every business here, and achieving that had been no small feat. It had taken countless hours of calculating and manipulating and extorting to establish himself here, and now he was faced with all his laborious efforts' imminent undoing. It was so hard to earn an honest buck these days, and while most of the money he'd acquired had hardly been done so through honest means – he'd even embezzled a good amount of funds from The Order itself to achieve his goals – it was the end result that mattered. _'Hell, even _she _believes the end justifies the means,'_ he thought with a smirk.

He entered the short corridor leading from the anteroom and followed it as it turned right and led him straight to a door. _'Interesting…'_ he thought as he gripped the knob. _'Interesting that _I_ should be entering this place when _she's_ the one who's out of her mind.'_ He laughed at the irony as he opened the door and passed through it into the waiting room of the Green Ridge Mental Health Clinic.

He stopped by the small table with the withered plant in the corner and took the photo of the teenage girl from the account book to examine it in the dim illumination provided by the light above the reception window opposite the door. One thing was certain, his boss-lady may be insane, but her foresight rarely failed her. This "Holy One," this…Heather, as the girl in the picture was allegedly referred to, was due to show up any minute. Would he take care of her himself when she arrived? Or should he see what other opportunities may turn up in the future? _'This is indeed a delicate situation,'_ he thought as he sauntered around the corner to his left, considering the fact that there were numerous possible outcomes dependent on how it was handled. Even the slightest factor may determine the outcome; the merest variation could drastically alter the results either in his favor or against it…

He continued to look a little longer at the photograph, now illuminated by the red glow emitted by the image of the Halo of the Sun etched near the bench on the left wall. Those things seemed to be cropping up everywhere lately. _'Perhaps I should wait and see how things play out,'_ he thought with a shrug as he discarded the photograph, which landed on the bench as he opened the door before him and passed through it. Inside was a small office illuminated by a single lamp by a desk on the right hand side of the room, accompanied by a few sparse furnishings consisting of a bookcase and a file cabinet among a few other things.

Walking up to the desk, the man set his account book down and tugged down on the bottom of his brown vest as he took a seat in the chair, which creaked under his weight from the rust that had since begun to overtake its metal components. He leaned his elbows on the desk and ran his fingers through his loosely combed brown hair, pondering his options. He then leaned back and steepled his fingers, the rusty chair support squeaking in protest as he idly swiveled to the right. "Should be here any time now…" he thought aloud to himself.

Sure enough, after a couple minutes, the door opened, and someone entered the room. The man noted it was the girl from the picture, and regarded her with sudden interest. "Heather…" he said. "That's what you're called now? Isn't it?" The girl known as Heather regarded him with suspicion.

"And who are you?" she demanded.

"The name's Vincent," the man replied, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "Don't forget it, okay?" He mulled quickly over a few thoughts. "I'm on your side," he declared.

"So you say…" Heather said, obviously not any more trusting of him. "But how do I know you're not with her?"

"Her?" Vincent echoed. "You mean Claudia?" The statement apparently upset him. "Please!" he nearly shouted, rising from his seat. "Don't lump me together with her! She was totally brainwashed by that crazy old hag!" He then decided to amend the latter part of his statement. "I guess 'crazy old hag' is a bit harsh. She is your mother, after all…"

"My mother?" Heather asked. "What do you mean?" Vincent seemed surprised at her words.

"You don't remember?" he inquired. "So, Harry didn't tell you anything. I guess he hid the truth to keep you on his side, eh? That figures. He's a pretty sneaky guy." Heather took offense at the statement.

"Don't talk about my dad like that!" she snapped.

"Sorry, I apologize," Vincent said in an effort to placate the girl. "Please, calm down."

"How do you know my father anyway?" Heather demanded, now even more suspicious of this Vincent character.

"I know everything," Vincent claimed. "I know about your past, too."

"Then tell me what's going on," Heather replied. Vincent seemed bemused.

"You don't know even that?" he asked.

"That's why I'm asking," Heather said. "If you know something, then tell me how I can put an end to this."

"Not yet," Vincent demurred. "Why not enjoy yourself a bit longer?" Heather was incredulous at the notion.

"Enjoy?" she echoed. "I feel like I'm going crazy! Doesn't this place get to you at all?"

"Oh, it gets to me all right," Vincent admitted. "I find it most fascinating." Heather, disgusted by his comment, turned and made her way toward the other door beside the one she'd entered through. "Wait!" Vincent called to her. "I'm not finished talking!"

"I knew you were on her side," Heather spat.

"How do you figure?!" Vincent shot back.

"There's something wrong with you, too!" she snapped, shutting the door behind her as she exited.

Vincent sat back down in the chair, a devious grin spreading over his face. He had played his hand perfectly. He'd taken a gamble, and the results were better than he could've hoped for. It was almost too good to be true. She definitely wouldn't go along with Claudia's plan, especially after she sees what happened to Daddy-dearest. If anything, she would do everything in her power to upset it, and nobody could fault him because his hands would be clean. If all went well, Heather would do all the dirty work for him, and he would be left to reap the benefits. All he had to do now was just play along until then.

The chair creaked as he leaned back and kicked his feet up on the desk, crossing one ankle over the other as he placed his hands behind his head and interlaced his fingers. _'Damn, I'm good!'_ he thought.  
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A/N: This is dedicated to all the Vincent fans out there. You know who you are, and you know there's just something undeniably cool about the money-skimming little weasel. Yes, that is the title I refer to him by, and no, it's not a pejorative. Now, leave me alone while I reminisce upon the coolness that is Vincent.


End file.
